


Conversations About Nothing

by Llama



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama/pseuds/Llama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes talking about it really doesn't help. Not that Rodney wants to talk about it, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversations About Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'out of line' at McShep Match 2012.

"I don't like this." Rodney didn't just mean the way his wrists were bound, or the death grip John had on his arm. Or the fact they were the only two humans on the whole Wraith ship. In fact, if he wasn't so busy not liking it, he could make an impressively long list of things he didn't like.

"You said." 

Rodney could only see the back of John's head - not that it looked like John's head with that god-awful Hallowe'en wig on it - but Rodney knew he was rolling his eyes. 

"Maybe if I _keep_ saying it, you'll actually listen-- no, wait, of course you won't." Rodney quickened his pace to keep up with John's thump, thump progress in his heavy boots. He seemed to know exactly where to go. And yes, that was disturbing too. 

"I listen to you, Rodney."

Rodney snorted.

"I do!"

"And then you ignore it."

"Only when I know better."

"Two PhDs!" 

"Neither of which is in military tactics or strategy." 

"Only because they don't exist—I don't think." He wouldn't put it past the military to think it was appropriate. "Well, perhaps not only for that reason," he admitted when John turned and gave him one of his _looks_. It was so ill-suited to the disguise that Rodney added another thing to his list of things he _really didn't like_ about this mission.

"I'll buy you one from one of those pretend universities. Nobody will know the difference."

"People like you are a menace on the internet," Rodney informed him. "Stick to the porn."

"Actually, I do sometimes--"

"Not listening!" 

John laughed, and hastily turned it to a growl as two figures strode into view at the second intersection ahead of them. Their leather coats swished and their boots echoed loudly along the pulsing corridor.

John gave Rodney a hard tug sideways.

"What are you--" Rodney started, because really - they had gone to these lengths on the disguise and John was going with the hiding? 

"Don't know how it will hold up once we get close," John said, pulling Rodney further along the corridor. The walls pulsed and whispered with each movement. "What if they've met me before?"

"Or me," Rodney whispered, only partly from caution. As far as he was concerned, the disguise held up a little _too_ well. "We're always together."

John smiled, and Rodney wondered why the make-up didn't crack or crease, but freakily, this close the pale, veiny skin looked... real. And while he was wondering, those eyes? Did they really make contact lenses that convincing?

The smile looked so out of place on those alien features that it was almost a relief when it changed into a scowl. 

"Not any more," John snarled, and his hand slammed into Rodney's chest.

* * *

"And he drained the life out of you?"

Teyla was remarkably calm, considering the possible implications. Rodney took comfort in another English muffin, dripping with butter. Sometimes he really loved being back on Earth.

"Yes! So you see the problem."

Teyla looked at him over her mug of nettle-and-some-other-nasty-herb tea. Did they pick these things to be as obnoxiously smelly as possible?

"I'm not sure I do, Rodney," she said, but she had that knowing look. Rodney had seen that one from her far too much lately. 

"Obviously that we have another sort of dream entity or-- or whatnot in the city! Maybe it will take advantage of John's week away at the SGC to invade, or steal our souls, or whatever else evil dream entities do for kicks." 

Teyla took another sip of her vile tea. How did she do that and not grimace? 

"If you really believed that, Rodney, the city would have been evacuated by now. Or given our current location, at least quarantined."

"But--"

"Is it not more likely that you are just concerned about the matter we discussed the other day, and had a - what do they call it? - an anxiety dream?"

Rodney could feel himself flush that embarrassing shade of pink, and he shifted a little in his seat. "I wouldn't say we _discussed_ anything. I told you, I was delirious. None of that was... I shouldn't have said anything."

"Of course," Teyla agreed. "Though perhaps Dr Roberts at the SGC could help if there was anything you needed to talk about? She was most helpful with my insomnia."

"They've cut me off," Rodney sniffed, and piled some extra butter on his muffin. "Can you believe it? No more beaming me over to the SGC, and they can't be bothered to send anyone over here. If I need a shrink I'm supposed to find one myself."

"I believe they can be expensive," Teyla ventured, but Rodney snorted.

"I don't care about that. I just don't have time to run around vetting a bunch of shrinks and weeding out the charlatans!" He waved his hand around to illustrate, and Teyla seemed to get it. She was the only one who hadn't laughed anyway, which put her ahead of everyone else so far.

"Then perhaps I can help after all." Teyla smiled. "I've been reading a great many books since we arrived on Earth, and I have found the work of your Doctor Freud very interesting--"

Rodney fled the mess hall, leaving his last muffin unmolested.

Sometimes he really hated being back on earth.

* * *

"What do you think John would do if I propositioned him?"

Jeannie stopped dead in the middle of her rant about _stupid Longridge and his theories just didn't hold up and had Rodney_ seen _what he'd said about--_

"John?" she said, sounding puzzled. "Wait. John _Sheppard_?"

Rodney sighed as loudly as he could and shifted the phone to his other ear. "Yes, of course John Sheppard. How many other Johns do we both know?"

"Eleven, not including celebrities," Jeannie snapped back, and far too quickly, but Rodney was not going to be distracted. "You can't possibly know that," he said. Well, not for long.

"Second cousin in Alberta on Mom's side, Forsyth, Sutton and Green from school, Askew my neighbour you went to beg meat from (I can hear Mom now, 'Were you brought up by _wolves_?'), Frasers from Arbuthnot Road - senior and junior, that guy that was nearly our second stepfather when I was ten, biology teacher from middle school, that one in your lab with the glasses, and I don't know his surname but the good-looking marine I had escort me on my last visit to Atlantis."

"Not as good-looking as John," Rodney said, stalling, because damn, she might have been right. He couldn't think of any more.

"He's going to punch you," Jeannie said, matter-of-factly. "Try not to let him get your nose."

"We're friends!" Rodney said. "And he's not some homophobic grunt, you know."

"That's not why he'll punch you, Mer." 

"Then why--"

"I've seen you chat up women, remember? Because _I'm_ not likely to forget."

"It's not _that_ bad!"

"'Hi, I'm a travelling gravedigger' isn't that bad?" Jeannie asked, her voice incredulous. "I'd hate to hear your idea of a terrible pick-up line."

"You're taking it out of context!" Rodney still felt himself flush. That one had been... soul-destroying, mostly because of Jeannie's presence. It was such a mistake talking to her about this. The dream didn't matter, and he wasn't anxious about it _at all_. Really. "I couldn't tell her what I was there for, it was top secret."

"Okay, how about 'Your hair is pretty!"

Oh, was she never going to let that one rest? "I was very young."

"You were twenty-five! My friends thought you were slow." 

"They made me nervous. When do girls grow out of that hanging around in groups thing, anyway?"

"When we _die_."

"Right, glad we cleared that one up," Rodney muttered. 

The other end of the phone was silent for a moment, then Jeannie said, "Look, I don't actually think he'll punch you."

"Hmm." It was still on Rodney's mental list of possible outcomes. It wasn't even the worst he'd thought of.

"As long as you don't just make a grab, or something. That would be-- you wouldn't do that, right?"

Rodney didn't dignify that with an answer, tough as it was to keep silent.

"Mer? You need to get it right this time."

Jeannie did sound genuinely concerned, so Rodney relented.

"Contrary to popular opinion, I do know how to behave. I thought I'd ask him out to a movie or something," he said. "There are lots he wants to see, and we don't have to watch them with the whole of Atlantis now. Or to dinner, maybe." 

"That sounds good," Jeannie said, and she sounded relieved. "And if he says no to the date part?"

"Then I'll invite him as a friend," Rodney said, because that's what she wanted to hear. Though he didn't think it would be a problem. He _didn't_.

"It won't be a problem," he said, and it sounded better out loud. More convincing.

Jeannie was silent again, and Rodney thought it might be time to end the call. This wasn't even why he phoned her… wait, why _had_ he phoned her?

He should have moved faster on that thought. 

"Ha! I just realised something," Jeannie said, in her 'I'm smarter than you' voice. "I knew you liked boys years ago."

She sounded so smug, Rodney couldn't let that pass. "You did not."

"Did too." And growing more smug by the moment. "You had a crush on that Gerry boy from Sycamore Street, the one with the red bike and the blond--"

"Gerry?" Rodney couldn't think who she was talking about at first, but yes, the red bike rang a bell and-- "Gerry-- you mean Gerry McCormack? Gerry-short-for- _Geraldine_ McCormack, who now that I think about it might have been the beginning of my preference for short blonde hair on women?"

Rodney enjoyed the (count them) one, two, three seconds of speechlessness from Jeannie, revelling fully in each one. 

"That was a _girl_?" she said at last, disbelief still evident in her voice. "I thought--"

"Geraldine married-an-Australian-and-now-lives-in-Sydney-with-their-four-kids-two-cats-and-a dog-McCormack?" Rodney continued, willing to milk this victory for as long as he could.

"Yes, all right," Jeannie said, and then "Wait, _you_ can't possibly know _that_ \-- are you on Facebook, Mer? Or... you googled her, didn't you?"

"Lies," Rodney said, hastily shutting down his browser, as if she could see him from Canada. "All lies." Though really, he wouldn't put it past her to get spy cameras installed in his room. She'd never had any idea about appropriate behaviour, but she always got away with it. 

Tomorrow he'd have the place swept. Just in case.

* * *

"Where's Sheppard?" Ronon asked the next morning.

"Had to stay an extra day at the SGC, but he'll be back tonight." Rodney did an experimental bounce on his feet. "I thought I'd join you instead." He was so up for this run. No really, he was. 

Two laps of the tower later he wasn't so sure.

"I've never seen you up at this time." 

"Well, sometimes I—"

"Unless you haven't been to bed," Ronon added, smirking over at him.

"Oh. I um, I had this dream again—"

"I don't do dreams." Ronon's voice was low, but firm, and he started moving a little faster. Rodney remembered John saying something about Ronon on their early morning runs, and how there were days when he ran like there was still someone after him.

"Right." Rodney breathed out hard, and hoped he was going to make it to the end. "Okay then, good talk. I'll—"

"I could give you a hug, though." 

Rodney ground to a halt, startled. "What?"

"A hug." Ronon jogged back to him and he looked unsure for a moment. "We can hug, right?"

"We could have a manly embrace, in times of extreme relief or stress," Rodney said, choosing his words carefully.

"What?" 

"Yes. We can hug," Rodney said, giving in to the inevitable bear-like squeeze. The one that lasted until he squeaked under the weight of Ronon's crushing python-like muscles.

At least it wasn't going to be just his legs that ached for the rest of the day.

* * *

Radek was on vacation somewhere Rodney couldn't even _spell_ , but he still managed to get involved.

_Hello Rodney,_

_I hear you have been having dreams about being in intimate situations with Colonel Sheppard. Perhaps you should just--_

Rodney shut down his email and slammed his laptop shut. He was never having a conversation in the mess hall ever again.

At least not until after he'd whispered something really confidential to Simpson about Radek, a donkey and a bottle - no, make it two bottles - of cheap vodka.

* * *

"Don't take this the wrong way—" Rodney tried, but no, he didn't think so. It sounded like he was expecting rejection, or worse – it sounded like he thought John was a jerk.

"Do you want to see a movie with me on Saturday?" Too easily misconstrued without any introduction, he thought. 

"I hope you won't think this is out of line—" Too negative maybe. And ha, out of line was a way of life on Atlantis. Or maybe it was just his friends. And family. Why didn't Rodney know any _normal_ people?

He still hadn't come up with a good opening line when he reached John's door. Maybe it didn't matter. He wasn't even sure John was back from the SGC yet, after all. 

But then the door opened, and there he was. A hand rubbing at his soft, spiky hair (no Wraith locks here), faint shadows of tiredness under his (perfectly normal, not cat-like) eyes, and the slight crinkling of his (slightly tanned, non-veiny) face that went with his usual crooked smile.

"Hey, Rodney," he said, clearing his throat when it came out croaky. "Sorry, too much talking about, well, nothing really. Did I miss dinner? I was going to come find you, but I think I fell asleep with my boots on."

With just one boot on, actually, and that one barely laced up, but Rodney didn't care. Normal was overrated. He preferred _this_. 

"Dinner's on me," Rodney said, and grabbed John's hand. He pulled him towards the gate room, John's single boot thump-thumping along on the floor as they walked. "Talking optional. I think I've done enough of that this week myself."

When John squeezed his hand in return, Rodney thought maybe this time he'd said the right thing.


End file.
